


Geheimnisse

by casstayinmyass



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Chair Bondage, Chair Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Espionage, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Older Man/Younger Woman, Porn With Plot, Rough Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Smut, Teasing, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 03:52:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Landa’s onto the secret that you, your fiance, and your father work undercover for the Allies– and if he finds out, he could blackmail you into anything.





	Geheimnisse

**Author's Note:**

> Title means "Secrets"
> 
> Prompt by @mysticaltimemachinewench on tumblr! This is also posted on there, at @headoverhiddles :)

You and [Gerhard Schreiber](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/c3cb21_4b6011601aeb48deb1760058e2dfb5b5~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_441,h_440,al_c,q_90/file.jpg) had been engaged for four months, and the wedding was already being planned. It was not to say you didn’t love the young man, but it had been an arranged relationship in the first place; or so you referred to it. Gerhard was your father’s colleague’s son, a tall blonde boy about your age, soon to be following in his father’s footsteps. At a dinner party one night, you had been introduced to Mr. Schreiber, a rotund older man with a bushy moustache who insisted you were the most elegant creature he’d ever laid eyes on, and that it would simply be a crime for you  _not_  to marry into his family.

Your father, a foreign diplomat, had taken a firm stance at first, assuring you he would never urge you to marry into a certain family for status, but you understood the situation– you understood that your father was this man’s subordinate, and that if you married into the Schreiber family, it would mean higher social standing for your own family, and most importantly– viability for your father.

You and your father held a secret. Ever since your Italian mother died, your father had found new cause to do something right. Your mother had always fiercely opposed the regime’s beliefs (in private of course, for your safety), so your father, on a diplomatic mission to Britain, had taken you with him, and after speaking to Churchill himself, the two of you had become members of the SOE. 

It was a dangerous double life. You were constantly on high alert around any officers, and you had to be worried for your soon to be husband now, who had overheard a conversation between you and your father. He had assured you he would not tell anyone (you suppose because it would likely get him killed as well at this point), and had decided to join the SOE with you. Though it was dangerous, you did enjoy the excitement of pretending to be someone you weren’t. Nobody had been able to see through your lies thus far, and nobody would. Nobody was smart enough.

Gerhard lights a cigarette, taking the needle off the record player. You look up from where you’re styling your hair at the mirror, and take the pin from between your teeth.

“Was ist da los, liebling?” (What’s the matter, darling?) you ask.

“I have… doubts, about tonight,” he responds in tired English, forgetting about his cigarette in a tray.

“Doubts?”

“The place will be swarming with Nazis.”

“I should hope so, it’s a German event.”

“Still. Nazis.”

“Which according to the state, we are. No different than your work day.”

“Yes.” He swallows. “Yes, forgive me, sometimes I don’t have the stomach for what I agreed to do for the executive operation.”

“I know. That is why you divulge the information after I dig it up. We can’t have you caught on your back. Especially if what you say is true, with all these scary  _Nazis_  around.” You stick the rose-adorned pin through the coiffed curl just above your cheekbone, and admire your reflection. You’ve got a long, forest green [dress ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fnafdress.com%2Fassests%2Fimages%2Fevening-dress-1940-evening-dress-1097807.jpg&t=ZjUxMjJmYTk4NTM5YTAzNmIxZTM4NzUxNTdkNDU4NmM3ODljODlmMSxveDlEQVJuTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180536307223%2Fgeheimnisse-hans-landa-x-reader-smut&m=1)on, that accentuates your bust and leaves room to show off your neck. Gerhard comes up behind you, feeling a hand up your arm.

“Ich bin fest davon überzeugt, dass ich, wenn ich sie nicht bei mir habe, bereits in einem gefängnis verfaulen würde.” (You know, I have full confidence that if I did not have you with me, I would already be rotting in a prison.)

You quirk a perfected eyebrow. “Gefängnis? Ohne mich wären sie tot.” (Prison? Without me, you would be dead.)

—-

The dinner is an event that heralded newspapers all over Nazi-occupied France to plaster it across the front page– said to be a society gathering, it was a place for higher-up members of the Third Reich to mingle with one another and forget about their hard work days of authorizing systematic murder for the night. It was also the perfect place to listen.

Your car pulls up at the entrance, and your heeled shoes touch the carpet rolled out for the arrival of guests. The Fuhrer himself would not be at the dinner tonight, but other officers would be, and it was your job to keep calm, look pretty, and chat them up.

Gerhard takes your shawl, and gives it to the doorman as you two are announced. Your father had already arrived much earlier, as he has to leave very late tonight for another visit to London tomorrow morning. He comes over to you.

“Ah, (y/n), Gerhard!”

“Papa.”

“Papa.”

“My children, follow me!”

He leads you to a group of uniformed men, and goes around introducing everyone. Yes, there were some in this very room who worked closely with Hitler. You could say it unnerved you, but you never really became unnerved without reason.

“Fraulein (y/n),” a man named Otto smiles, kissing your hand, “Ein vergnügen.” (A pleasure.) He turns to Gerhard, slapping him on the back. “Hat dir dein vater von den guten nachrichten aus Barbarossa erzählt?!” (Mr. Schreiber! Did your father tell you of the good news from Barbarossa?!)

“Ich habe nicht viel gehört,” (I haven’t heard much) your fiancé smiles, “Könnten sie mir bitte sagen, wie wir aus dieser einöde gute nachrichten gewonnen haben?” (Would you gentlemen care to fill me in on how we seem to have garnered good news out of that wasteland?)

“Bah,” another German officer named Jürgen scoffs, “Ich vertraue der vision des Führers, aber die Invasion Russlands ist unnötig. Sie wissen, was wir tun können, und diese roten teufel verdienen unsere zeit und unser blut nicht.” (I trust the Fuhrer’s vision but the invasion of Russia is unnecessary. They know what we can do, and those red devils don’t deserve our time and blood.)  

“Sie müssen daran erinnern, was wir tun können,” (They must need reminding of what we can do) you speak up, taking a sip from a glass of champagne, “Ich würde gerne sehen, ob ihr Schnee die Farbe ihrer Flagge ändern kann.” (I’d like to see if their snow can turn the colour of their flag.)

Otto bursts into hearty fits of laughter. “Ich– Ich genieße dieses mädchen.” (I– I enjoy this girl.) Jürgen stalks closer to you, and clenches his jaw.

“Wenn sie nicht die zukünftige  _Frau_  Schreiber wären, hätte ich sie dafür auf ihren hübschen mund geklopft.” (If you were not the future  _Mrs_. Schreiber, I would have you slapped across your pretty little mouth for that.) Your father puts a protective hand on your shoulder, and your fiancé takes a shot.

“Was ist das problem damit, Jürgen? Sie spricht einfach die wahrheit des Führers,” (What’s the matter with it, Jürgen? She’s simply speaking the Fuhrer’s truth) your father mutters.

“Es scheint, dass sie die einzige ist, die genug bälle hat, um dies zu tun!” (It would appear she’s the only one with enough balls to do so!) Otto laughs, shaking his head and taking his own shot down.

Just then, the man by the door announces a new name.

_“Herr Colonel Hans Landa, ein partner des SS Einsatzgruppen.” (Colonel Hans Landa, an affiliate of the SS Einsatzgruppen.)_

You turn.  _A detective?_

Your heartbeat picks up as you watch the man enter. He’s not as tall as some of his fellow officers, but there’s an air about him that emanates danger– you can tell he is not one to be trifled with.

Beyond that, he’s handsome– handsome, sure of himself, and looks dangerous. A man after your own heart, if you weren’t getting married to poor Gerhard in a month. Expecting Landa to brush right past you to approach the room upstairs, you look away, but are surprised when he stops directly in front of you two.

“Ah. Neue gesichter! Darf ich um einführungen bitten?” (Ah. New faces! May I request introductions?)

“Colonel,” your father shakes his hand, “Das ist meine tochter, Frau (y/n) Schreiber.” (This is my daughter, Mrs. (y/n) Schreiber.)  

“Und was für eine schöne tochter sie ist. Du bist eine Frau?” (And what a lovely daughter she is. You’re a Mrs.?) he implores, taking your hand. You hold his gaze, a silent intensity passing between you. The question is not affronted at all– it’s curious.

"Soon to be,” you smile, and he takes a breath, smiling primly back at you.

“You speak English.”

“All civilized Germans know more than just German,” you smirk.

“Devo essere d'accordo,” (I have to agree) he replies in Italian, and gives your body a quick once-over.

“Cosa fa un detective a una festa come questa?” (What’s a detective doing in a place like this?)

He hides his surprise at your ability to speak with him. “…Godersi una notte libera.” (Enjoying a night off.)

“Sei, colonnello?” (Are you, Colonel?)

His amber eyes narrow for a second, then he turns to your extremely confused looking fiancé, giving a friendly chuckle and shaking his hand. “Forgive us my boy, we were merely playing a little game of cat and mouse in one of the most beautiful languages. You’re lucky– she is sharp, this one!”

“Plus forte que vous ne le savez.” (Sharper than you know (in French).)

He turns back to you, and you notice his smile flicker ever so slightly at the corners of his mouth into something menacing. “Careful, mein Fraulein. Tu me pousses trop loin, tu ne l'aimeras pas quand le chat attrape la souris.” (Careful, my dear. You push me too far, you will not like it when the cat catches the mouse.)

You feel the first real spark of anything other than assurance all night, and look down. Satisfied, Hans looks up to everyone. “Did you all hear my announcement back there? Mein Gott, I hate it when they lump me in with the death squads. I’m a detective! Finding people is my specialty, not killing them.” You snort, and he ignores you this time to instead speak amiably with your father. “So. How was your excursion to England, sir?”

Your father hesitates, but smiles back. “Well, I wish I could bear news as good as Barbarossa, Herr Colonel, but it was less than productive. Churchill is not an easy man to reason with.”

“He’s a fool. A brave but foolhardy man who the British people have decided to elect their hero.” Landa observes your father’s movements closely. “Do you not think so?”

“Of course I agree with you sir.”

“Mm. Tell me, what did he have to say to you?”

Your father– bless him, not the best liar– almost stutters, almost unnerved under Landa’s intensity. “I don’t remember exactly, Herr Colonel, as I am getting older and… my memory is not what it used to be.”

Landa stares at your father for a good ten seconds, then speaks. “A shame. I was hoping you would have a fun story or two for me, seeing as your last visit was not but a week ago. And your next is… tomorrow, is it not?”

You all wait in more tense silence, until Landa scoffs, waving the tension away with his hand. “Ah, perhaps it is for the best. Tonight is not a night to discuss politics! No, tonight is a night of dance, food, drink! And, of course… meeting new people.” He looks at you, and smirks.  "Thanks to your ailing memory, Mr. (y/l/n), I may partake in that this evening.“

Your father exhales slightly, and you hold Landa’s gaze. His eyes drop down, and he inhales as he admires you again. The way he ever so slightly teases his bottom lip as he looks at you though… your head quirks. There’s a side to this intimidating older man not many people see.

Your husband inconspicuously tugs your wrist, and whispers in your ear. "I’m heading home. Long day of travel tomorrow.”

Though it was frowned upon, it was not unheard of for a German lady to be unaccompanied by a man to a party of this stature, so you remained there as Gerhard kissed you on the cheek and said his goodbyes. As he does so, you see Hans turn to one of his accompanying officers and whisper something. You frown.

Your father got to talking to Otto and Jorgen again, so Hans holds out a hand.

“May I?” He sees your suspicious glance, and holds a hand up, smiling. “I simply wish to chat, my dear.” You nod silently, and take his arm. As you walk through the crowd, he takes out a silver cigarette case, and offers one to you as well. After some debate, you accept, and he lights yours before his with his Ronson. “So. Why would you get married to a spineless coward like Gerhard Schreiber?” You gasp, snatching your arm away from Landa. He looks to you, raises his eyebrows, and puts a hand on his chest. “Oh, pardon– have I offended you with the truth?”

Seething, you feel your blood race. “My husband risks his life every day.”

“Doing… what?” He gives a pleasant chuckle. “You’ll have to forgive my cultural ignorance, Fraulein– are they traditionally apt in Britain to hold foreign guests at gunpoint when they arrive, and shake their hand over the barrel of an Enfield?” His smile has since faded, boring holes into you with the gravitas of the question. Closing your mouth, you catch your mistake.  _Please don’t be as observant as I think you are._  “Besides. He is not your husband yet. Or am I wrong about that…?”  

You almost retort to that, but you decide to keep your mouth shut. It’s the best option when fired up, and you’re lucky that’s the part he chose to fixate on, not the fact that you almost just gave away your husband’s secret, and along with it, yours. He gives a self-satisfied smirk, and drags on his cigarette.

“You never answered my question.”

“What?”

“Why are you going to marry him?”

“I don’t love him, I pity him. Anyway, why do you want to know so desperately?” You let your curls fall into your face, and part your lips. Landa adjusts himself in his seat.

“I’m a curious man, in case you hadn’t figured that out Fraulein.”

“I’m curious too,” you suddenly say, “I’m certain I’m the first woman who has ever surprised you. Yes?”

He huffs. “I…” You raise an indignant eyebrow, so he responds tightly. “It is true that I am rarely surprised, I will grant you that.”

“So, Colonel…” you go on, taking his arm again, “It must be true as well that you’ve never met a woman like me.”

His grip on you tightens. “Yes. However the same can be said of me.”

You hope he didn’t hear your soft moan.

—

Later that night, or early in the morning, it takes a while for you to get home by car service. Landa had bid you goodnight earlier than you had left, to go “hunt” some more no doubt. A bastard’s work is never done. This was after one of his officers had come back and whispered something back in his ear. After he had left, you spent your night making the rounds, but nothing particularly revealing had come up that warranted immediate communication with Churchill.

When you do arrive, you find that it is strangely quiet around your home. Usually Gerhard had a record playing if he was waiting on your return, as he did not like to sleep before you came home.

But you hear nothing.

Letting yourself in, you step carefully through your doorway… and feel something crunch under your heels. Turning the lamp on, you gasp, and fall to your knees. Broken glass litters the carpet beneath you, and–

“Oh,“ you whisper, slapping a hand over your mouth as a tear rolls down your cheek. Three bullet holes in your wall just beside the mirror, and a smear of dripping blood all the way down to where your fiancé lies, slumped over, in a puddle of red. On the floor beside him is a gun, which he had obviously gone for during the intrusion. You whirl around, checking behind the door– but you’re alone with Gerhard’s body, and the mess. Standing up shakily, you run a hand through your hair, letting the pins drop on the shards. You brush off your knees, which you hadn’t even realized were bleeding from the glass.

There. On Gerhard’s lap.

You walk over slowly, and grab a letter left. It has spatters on it from where Gerhard had likely bled on it over the last hour, but the wax seal is what you were paying attention to: the mark of the SS.

Opening the letter, you read it.

_Frau (y/n)– apologies, Fraulein (y/n)._

_It takes courage to lie to my face. I respect that courage in you, because you did it quite well, but your beloved and your father… well, they less than passed my little test. Your husband was a terrible liar, as you can see. Your father is en route to London, and I cannot stop him now, nor would I wish to, for your sake._

_I assume you didn’t know what I am known for. The Jew hunter. Do you realize who I hunt, Fraulein? Enemies of the state. That includes your fiancé, your father, and you. It is my job to discover secrets, and I have discovered yours._

_Unless you would like to stain that pretty green dress red, I expect to see you at tomorrow night’s premiere of Stolz Der Nation – I will be your escort for the evening._

_All my love,_

_Col. Hans Landa, SS_

You crumple up the letter, and hold it to your chest as you think of those inquisitive, dangerous brown eyes. This is the perfect opportunity to get back at the Nazis– turn up the heat on Landa, infiltrate their precious premiere, and get all the information you need when he’s on his hands and knees.

—

Upon arriving at the premiere, you are photographed by many people as you enter. Being on Hans Landa’s arm has its benefits– no one bothers you, asks you to dance, or even attempts to flirt or talk with you. They’re all too scared of Landa to try it.

"You look beautiful in that little [dress](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.retropetite.com%2Fmedia%2Fcatalog%2Fproduct%2Fcache%2F3%2Fimage%2F1800x%2F040ec09b1e35df139433887a97daa66f%2Fp%2Fe%2Fpetite-split-dress-min.jpg&t=NzM3OGUyYjk3ODZjYjViNmRlMGMxMTU4ZTNhNzU5ZDVlOGI0YmE2OSxveDlEQVJuTw%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F180536307223%2Fgeheimnisse-hans-landa-x-reader-smut&m=1),” Landa says to you, “And they all know it.”

“I know.”

“Mm, I see what you did– red, in case you end up shot tonight.” You feel his grip tighten as you try to struggle out of it, and he maintains his calm smile as you two make your way through the crowd. His breath is hot on your ear, and you wish you wouldn’t get so warm from it. The man was despicable. You wanted to kill him. And yet– in that uniform, you found yourself wondering how long it could take to get him out of it.

“Landa!” Joseph Goebbels, the Reich Minister, calls, beaming and waving you two over. Landa practically leads you over, and Joseph’s eyes go to you like a magnet. “Oh…  _oh!_  Who… is this…  _beautiful_  young lady who has stolen my words right from my mouth?!”

“She is my date,” Landa smiles, his hand reaching suspiciously low on your back.

“Breathtaking,” Joseph gasps, “Absolutely astounding.”

You fight the urge to scowl– it sounds like they’re sizing up a car or a house for sale. Hans pulls you slightly behind his back, and clears his throat. “How has your night been so far, my friend?”

“Ah, gut, gut. So langweilig diese ereignisse auch sein können, ich freue mich tatsächlich darauf, da es mein film ist.” (Good, good. Boring as these events can be, I’m actually looking forward to this one, as it is my film.)

“Hm,” Landa nods, “Wir freuen uns sehr, es zu sehen.” (We are looking forward to seeing it.) Though he is talking to Joseph, he can’t seem to keep his eyes from wandering to you. 

“Anche se sono un po ‘più eccitato di vedere qualcos'altro,” (Although I’m a little more excited to see something else) you respond in Italian so that only Landa has a chance of understanding. He chokes a little, turning to stare at you, and you lick your red bottom lip inconspicuously, pouting. Landa does look good tonight– the silver at his temples beneath his styled blonde hair is doing things to you, whether you liked it or not.

Joseph shakes his head, not catching it of course. Landa regains the upper hand, and chuckles. “Ha! She said she’s so eager to see it, she’s just ready to burst!” He grins, patting your cheek. “My charming little girl!”

“Ah, a delight indeed,” Joseph continues to beam, and pats your arm. Landa excuses you both, and takes you past him, only to lean in.

“What do you think you are doing?” His voice is biting.

“Nothing,” you respond innocently. He leans in from behind, even closer, and you are genuinely intrigued to feel he’s hard in his pants. “…I see I have an effect on you.”

He growls, and steps away. “Stop it. At once.”

“Stop what?”

“You force me to–”

“What?” you smirk, “What are you gonna do? Fuck me?” He rolls his eyes, and you tilt your head a little, in curiosity. “…Let me fuck you?” He snaps his head up in incredulity, and his pupils dilate.

_Ooh. That’s a bingo._

“So,” you smile wickedly, circling him, “You like it when girls take charge, hm? When we… pin you down, so you can’t move as we slowly, slowly slide your pants down?”

“(y/n), this is embarrassing, you are embarrassing yourself and me–” he snaps, but you hush him with a scoff.

“Like you weren’t imagining this when you blackmailed me into becoming your  _date,_ Prinz Charmant.”

Hans looks around, makes sure nobody is watching, then drags you toward his make-do office that he had had the owners make up for him. Just as he’s about to open it, Joseph calls again.

“Landa, where are you going?! I thought you could join myself and my Francesca in the box!”

“Thank you. But something must be taken care of first,” Landa grits out pleasantly, and closes the door. Once inside, you’re both breathing heavily, and you look down to the tent in his pants. He looks down to it as well, and you saunter over to him.

_Now’s the time. You can make him surrender to you– tell you anything._

He looks almost panicked– like prey. “(y/n)–”

You silence the famed detective by sealing your lips over his, and he lets out a slutty moan that actually makes you wet. You keep kissing him, parting the slit in your dress to lift your knee and rub his erection through his uniform pants. He pushes you off him, looks at your swollen lips and lustful eyes, and takes you over to the chair, where he sits. You smile a little, and unbuckle his pants, pulling them down to let his cock free.

Since you met the man, he seemed as domineering as they come, with that hawk-like glare and confident posture– and that  _letter_ – but now, he looks even more beautiful like this, absolutely powerless to you.

Lowering down between his legs, you hold the base of his dick as you bring your mouth down over it, licking gently along the tip as you go down, down…

“Ah,” Hans breathes, holding your head, and you continue to suck him off. His hips begin to lift, circling and thrusting into your mouth, but you hold him down by the hips as he lets out another groan.

“Ich brauche…”

“What do you need?” you moan, watching his lips part nervously. “Sag mir was du brauchst, daddy.” (Tell me what you need, daddy.)

“I-Ich muss dich f-fühlen,” (I need to feel you) he gasps, and you begin to undress his lower half, until he’s in his white boxers. You take them down, and climb onto his lap. He’s staring up at you in awe, and you take your stockings off slowly, tying his legs to the chair as slow as you can, to tease. He smirks up at you as you tie him up. “You certainly are taking your time with that.”

You take him by the jaw, and squeeze. “And you’re talking too much. I don’t fuck naughty boys.”

He clicks his tongue. “Point taken.”

You move your dress out of the way as you sink down over his cock.

“Oh,” you breathe, falling forward. His face twists up, and he grips the chair as you fully seat yourself on him, tugging his black tie from its immaculate position tucked into his cold, rough jacket.

“Move,” he says, and it’s not so much a command as it is begging. You start moving, rocking him back and forth as you fuck him, your breasts pressing into his face. “Ah… ahh,” he moans against you, eyebrows lifting, and you’re not sure you’ve seen anything so arousing than this man losing it for you.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, “So ein guter junge für mich… (such a good boy for me). "Du magst es so gefickt zu werden?” (You like getting fucked like this?)

“Yes… yes,” Landa chants, and his hands fly to your hips. You slap them away, and lean down to kiss him again. He moans through the rough kiss, and you tug his hair back as you roll your hips down hard.

“It looks like the mouse caught the cat, Herr Colonel.”

With a loud groan, Landa comes hard, and you keep him inside you, bucking down and riding him as hard as you can until he’s finished. At the last minute, he tugs you down over top of him and kisses you back, sending you over the edge as well.

“Oh… oh, herr Colonel, yes, fuck,  _fuck_ …”

“(y/n)… don’t stop–”

You hold him as his head falls forward into your chest, and cradle him there for moment as you both catch your breath. When he finally tilts his head up, he looks so pretty– stunned, lips pink, cheeks flushed, and blonde hair mussed.

“Ich habe deine geschenke unterschätzt,” (I underestimated your gifts.) “I’ve never finished that hard before, Fraulein.” His intense gaze is now a mix of wonder, confusion, and slight bashfulness.

You stroke along his jaw. “Neither have I,” you confess, giggling into his hair. You get up, leaning against the desk, and he does up his pants again, checking his collar and badges to ensure he’s in tip top shape before re-emerging into the public eye.

As you both enter the premiere again from the little office after getting him presentably dressed, you bite your lip, burying your feelings of guilt.

_Perhaps your letter to Churchill could wait another week… perhaps you could get a few different secrets out of the enigmatic man leading you by the hand._


End file.
